Never
by blue269
Summary: While Santana is genuine, Brittany is doubtful. What happens if she questions the way Santana looks at her? One-shot.


I wanted to know if she was being serious about me. It's not that I don't trust her; it's more like me doubting myself. It's her eyes, I swear. When those brown orbs gaze at me, like I'm something special, one of a kind, or some faultless being, it makes my heart melt and cringe at the same time. My stomach churns with fluffiness everytime she looks at me like _that _because nobody has ever looked at me in that manner before. On the other hand, however, it twists my insides, because there's a lingering cloud in my head, reminding me I'm the most fragile and faulty person there could ever be – which is the exact opposite of the way she thinks of me.

Of course I don't want to lose her. Santana makes me the happiest.

But I can't stop that from happening when she finds out I'm not as awesome as she thinks I am.

In a way of hinting Santana about my weak points or my faults in general, I have been treating her a little differently this week. I wanted to see if the way she looks at me will change. At first, I wasn't answering her texts or her calls. Even if I do, it was short and cold. Those two words would succinctly describe my recognition of her digital messages. It wasn't easy, believe me, to reply with one-liner statements when all I wanted to do is to communicate with her. But I felt like I needed to do this, so I carried on.

_Hi, Britt-Britt. What are you doing tonight?_

_I'm busy_

_With what? Can I drop over and get our cuddles on?_

_No_

_Why :(_

I almost broke my plan with that sad face, because I knew she was exactly looking like that in actual life. Even like a sad puppy. With her lower lip jutting out – so kissable. And I had to stop my train of thought right there if I really wanted to get this through.

_Because I'm busy and tired_

There was an unusual pause before I got another reply. She was always quick to answer my texts.

It caught on me that with what I'm doing right now is probably damaging my connection with Santana, one way or another. It's like experimenting with a bunch of chemicals – you want to know how things will react or what will happen in the end while at the same time, you don't want to get hurt in the process of experimentation. But I persisted in my head that what I'm doing will benefit both of us.

_Okay, I understand. Get some rest, Britt. I'll see you tomorrow! X_

_Good night_

On the next day, Santana never failed to make sure I was feeling fine and even comforted me though I didn't ask for it. Her eyes were full of fondness and infectious mirth that always makes me smile. And, yeah, you can infer the way she looks at me didn't change a bit.

For three days, I went on treating her coldly on texts – and I knew being so wouldn't put her off. I even opted for not answering her queries, but it didn't affect her as well. The way she looks at me never staggered.

I guess I was doing something wrong. I was cold on texts, but so warm on present times. But like I said, it wasn't easy to resist Santana – especially when you've never wanted someone as much as I to her.

My fears and insecurities take over me instead. The longer we go on being attached in so many ways, the sooner she'll discover I'm not good enough. Santana is far too better for me to deserve.

That is why, on the fourth day, I decided to take it a notch up. I started what seem to be an innocent conversation with this guy from work who had messy curly hair, brown eyes, and nice set of teeth. He was undeniably cute, I would say. (But I could totally see the resemblances from my preferences. Those brown eyes and nice teeth?–definitely not akin to my Santana.) So we were chatting, and I was actually good at the game of flirting prior to Santana. I managed to incorporate suggesting looks and unnecessary touches at his arm or chest to insinuate some obvious implications.

I was laughing at something he was saying when Santana walked in.

She was bearing a conflicted expression of knitted brows and a slight smile. It was kind of adorable. (Okay, not 'kind of' – it was _totally _adorable.) When she set eyes on me, that adorable look was swept away and replaced by something I thought was _hurt_.

And that was when I was sure I had done something terribly wrong.

Santana stared for another good five seconds until she put pieces in her brain and made a conclusion of what she just saw. She grabbed her purse briskly, not even risking to give away another glance in my direction.

I, of course, didn't bother to excuse myself and went after her immediately.

She was already by the elevator, and the doors closed even before I could get to her. I ran for the stairs, determined to catch her. Knowing Santana, she would probably bolt from an instance like this. It was too exposing, too confronting. I kept running down the stairs, and prayed she hasn't gotten in her car yet.

I saw her reaching for the car door handle, and that was the time I exhaled a relieved sigh. But not too much. The look of betrayal in her face was too evident I hated myself.

"Santana," I said loud enough, so she can't dare drive away.

She looked up to me, and her eyes were glassy. _God, I'm so stupid_. I hurt that one person I was sure would never hurt me. For what?–well, my ugly, ugly doubts.

I was at loss for words, too struck to see what I've done.

Thankfully, Santana fully turned to me – but not without crossing her arms a little too rashly.

"I knew something was off," she starts to speak. "Between us, I mean. I asked you out for a walk in the park, and you said Lord Tubbington had an appointment. That was a Tuesday. Lord Tubbs doesn't go to vet on Tuesdays because he makes out with his girlfriend on that day. I should know. I _knew_ something wasn't right. The question of 'what did I do wrong' was eating me and I was actually meaning to ask you that before I saw you talking rather…suggestively to that guy."

"I didn't know what I was doing, Santana," I say earnestly.

"Oh, you absolutely did, Brittany. Batting your eyelashes charmingly and giggling at the right jokes – yep, you totally knew what you were doing."

She was calling me by my whole name, and that completely indicates we're in a bad place.

"Please don't be mad at me," was all my helpless reply.

She was scanning my face for something I don't know. Her expression softened. "I'm not mad at you, Brittany. I don't think I have the full capability to be mad at you. Even if I wanted to, I couldn't."

Of course she had to say that in a crucial moment like now. She made my ears turn pink and my head dance. She was always genuine with me and I really admire her for that.

"But that's not fair," she goes on to talk. "I know what we have is something unlabeled. And one of us ought to change that. But I thought we were more just than anybodies. You _are _somebody to me, Britt. I believed that you wouldn't put me aside for anyone else."

"It's really not like that, San, please." I wasn't sure what I was begging for – her forgiveness or her willingness to stick with me, I don't know – but after what I've inflicted to Santana – I should be pleading for _something_.

"If you didn't want me, you should've just told me. I know you're scared of hurting other people's feelings because you're a unicorn like that, and telling someone they're hardly likable is not an easy task – but, Brittany, that would have been better than blatantly replacing me with someone else."

"I'm not replacing you, Santana. I could never."

She was looking at me, and _that_ look I both dread and rejoice still hasn't change. I was still faultless to her eyes, even if she experienced the complete opposite. It was laced with something else I can't name, though. It was probably akin with despair. She was seeing this as the end of us. I needed to change that.

"I don't know if whatever I'm going to say next would sound plausible to you after what I did, but please believe me when I say I only want you, Santana. I never longed for anyone else as much as I've longed for you. It's true. You're the best thing that has ever happened to me, until, of course, I had to ruin it."

She was silent.

"This destruction I brought upon me started when I noticed the way you look at me."

"Lovingly," she says irately. "I look at you lovingly. I'm sorry if I was suffocating you with that look."

I was surprised she would use a term that includes the L word in it, though on second thought, it was the sum of the way I depicted it. And probably the way I feel about her, too.

"Yeah, lovingly," I nod. "It's not exactly that, though. You look at me like I'm God's grace to earth, and I was– _am_ –truly happy, though skeptical about the way you see me. But then I got to thinking: What if Santana wakes up to reality and sees me as the real _me_? I'm not God's grace to earth! Most likely she wouldn't want me anymore."

Santana half-scoffs and half-laughs. I ignored her.

"So I thought giving you hints about my imperfections would lessen the impact when the time comes my ungodliness to earth and grace hits you. I think I don't deserve you, Santana."

"If that's how you think, then you have to think again." I can read her emotions battle among dubiousness, joy, and confusion. "What 'imperfection' are you implying with flirting with someone else then? That you're going to cheat on me in the future?"

"No! Never! I'd never cheat on you!"

She smirks in this very situation. Santana had the nerve to smirk at me!

I explained, "I wanted to see how serious you are with me. I wanted to see if the way you looked at me would ever change. Being cold on texts apparently would never tell me that, so I decided to take it a step up. And, as you see, that stirred ineffectively – and here we are now."

"Can I hug you?"

Her response wasn't what I expected, but I was indifferent. "You sound alike to the time we first slept together and you asked if we can have sex again."

"Is that right?"

"You were so cute then – slightly dazed and flushed. So I immediately pounced on you to grant your request."

"And then I asked _again_."

Instead of hugging me like she initially asked, she kissed me. I felt myself smiling to the kiss, because it always felt good to kiss Santana. Whether we're clothed or not, I would always want to kiss her. More importantly, this is a kiss after my very horrible act. It signifies she still wants me after that. I'm quite lucky, am I not?

When we parted, Santana was smiling too. That's good.

"Brittany Susan Pierce, don't even dare think I'm too good for you or that you're not good enough or whatever like that. In this life, I don't think 'what you deserve' is what matters; I think it's more of 'what you feel.' I want you because of who you are, and that's more than enough for me."

I wanted to cry because she was being earnest again. I rubbed my right eye because a tear is planning to escape.

"Get in the car, Britt. I'm taking you somewhere and I have to tell you something big."

"I love you?" I queried.

Her lips twitched up. "No."

"Oh, well, _I _love you."

She squeezed my shoulders from too much happiness (I guess?), and she was practically beaming. God, she's so beautiful. But she didn't say anything, which was totally okay. I don't need to hear it back, but I need her to know that that is the way I feel about her.

She led me to her car, and even opened the door for me. I got in, put my seatbelt on. She was still by the door, though. She bowed and leaned closer to me, and the next four words she said made me understand the winner smile etched on her face.

"I love you, too."

And in that moment, I swore I would _never _let go of her.


End file.
